Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 270 Iron Bar
A piece of iron lay silently in the dark warehouse, devoid of thought. But if it did, it must have wondered what it would become throughout its life.

Is it a plow for clearing land?

Or is it the sickle for harvesting crops?

The door opened, light shone in, and the iron bar was taken out of the storeroom by the craftsman.

It was thrown into the furnace and buried deep under the scorching charcoal. The bellows roared, and the flames scorched the iron body.

After enduring an unknown amount of time, the iron bar finally escaped the fiery inferno. It was then immediately placed on a water-powered forging press and repeatedly hammered.

Soon, the iron bar disappeared, leaving behind an iron awl about the length of a forearm, pointed at both ends, and about the thickness of a person's hand in the middle.

As soon as the iron awl was formed, the blacksmith threw it at the apprentices' feet. Before the apprentices could make their next move, the blacksmith had already gone to get another iron bar.

The iron awl was taken over by an apprentice, and its interior still contained astonishing heat.

Its surface was coated with soap by the apprentices: when it turned yellow, it was put back into the furnace; when it turned white, it was buried in hot sand to cool it down.

The iron cone was repeatedly adjusted until its color was between gold and silver before the apprentice threw it into the oil tank.

The scorching hot iron cone made a hissing sound when it touched the cold oil.

In the blink of an eye, it faded from bright yellow to blood red, and was taken out of the oil vat by the apprentices and left to dry in the air;

The color of the iron cone continued to change gradually, the blood red fading and violet gradually emerging.

It was then immersed in oil again and slowly cooled.

While the apprentices were doing this kind of work, a pot-bellied man, wiping his sweat, with his belly sticking out, glared at the apprentices, inspecting them, scolding them, and correcting their mistakes.

Quenching and tempering have always been closely guarded secrets among master craftsmen, and judging the timing of material placement relies entirely on eyesight, experience, and expertise.

If a craftsman is willing to teach these two skills to an apprentice, it's either because he's drunk or the apprentice is his illegitimate son.

Throughout Iron Peak County, the person most skilled in these two techniques is none other than the swordsmith and municipal councilor, Shao Sha.

Now, Shao Sha pulled out all the stops. Although the apprentices were scolded, they were secretly overjoyed.

Simply learning to distinguish the three colors of steel is enough to benefit them for a lifetime.

Once the iron awl has been quenched and tempered, it is passed on to the newly initiated apprentices to be sharpened.

In the strictly hierarchical blacksmith guild, young apprentices are not qualified to learn more advanced skills and can only honestly grind iron.

The foot-operated grinding wheel spun rapidly, sparks flying everywhere, and the iron awl was sharpened to an unparalleled point.

Swords are rarely sharpened with a grinding wheel because the blade can easily be damaged if not handled carefully. However, there's no time for delicate work now, so naturally, speed is the priority.

The iron awl, having undergone burning, forging, quenching, tempering, and sharpening, was sent to the town hall, where the carpenter awaited it.

What happened next was simple: the awl was hammered into a thick wooden stick, one end buried deep in the wood, the other end with its sharp point exposed.

It was hastily secured by a carpenter with nails and ropes, and then sent to the town square to join its siblings.

At that moment, the iron bar understood its destiny: to be a weapon.

……

With the furnace glowing red-hot and the heavy hammers thundering, the forging town was like a wild horse being whipped hard by its rider, now running at full speed.

No one made plows and sickles anymore; craftsmen and apprentices alike were forging weapons like madmen.

Swords and blades are too time-consuming, axes and halberds are too wasteful of materials. The simpler the tool for killing, the better.

The spiked mace was the obvious choice. For no other reason than its ease of construction.

As the name suggests, it is a club capable of stabbing.

It doesn't require good steel or good wood. An iron awl and a wooden stick used for making farm tools, fixed together, make a mace. It's not as good as a spear, but at least it's better than a sharpened wooden shaft.

The spiked mallet itself is one of the most rudimentary weapons.

The spiked mallet hastily made in the forge town is the simplest among all spiked mallet types, without exception.

Using thick wooden sticks sacrifices weight and flexibility for structural strength; iron cones cannot be firmly fixed in time, which is equivalent to trading structural strength for time.

There were certainly people in Tiefeng County who didn't believe that "the barbarians are coming to kill us," but the blacksmiths were absolutely certain.

If it weren't for an extremely urgent situation, how could the Montagne tribunal have ordered such crudely made weapons?

In such a suffocatingly urgent situation, no one would care about the change of ownership of a forge—except for Ogoncharov.

Ooka had no idea what had happened.

Anyway, Vinicius Jr. went to Gevordan and came back with all the formalities completed.

Without a word, the Vinicius family's forge had been sold to Chaussa, with all procedures such as public announcement and voting simplified.

Oogan suffered a silent loss, after all, the nominal head of the blacksmiths' guild was still Mr. Shaosha.

As for who's behind Saosha? Even a fool could guess.

At that very moment, that person was standing right in front of him.

"Your Excellency, the Protector of the People," Ooka said cautiously with a smile, "three hundred spiked clubs and six hundred iron awls have already been loaded onto the carts."

“Not bad.” The military officer nodded.

The young military officer, dressed in full uniform, held a riding crop and had a long sword at his waist. For some reason, Ooka felt a little breathless.

"Thank you for the compliment, sir. I am truly unworthy of it... I am unworthy of it."

"Of the seven forge owners, five have fled. They all took their families and hid in Zhevodan, leaving only you three brothers and Mr. Vinicius." The military tribunal smiled slightly: "You're really quite good, and I hope I'll need you in the future."

Ooka Tsuru's forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his spine felt chilly. Even after walking quite a distance, he still hadn't recovered.

In the square of Forging Furnace Township, a convoy was ready to depart, escorted by the First Company of Tamas.

“Don’t conserve your strength; get it to Lieutenant Bard as quickly as possible. Tell Lieutenant Bard this is the first batch, and more will be sent over.” Winters instructed Tamas: “Once you arrive, leave the horses pulling the carts there. Bring back the horses that have been distributed to the various farms.”

"Yes!" Tamas saluted emphatically.

Winters adjusted the company commander's helmet and sighed, "Don't embarrass me again."

Tamas felt so wronged that his nose stung with tears, and he saluted again: "Yes, sir!"

……

This afternoon, a company commander was publicly and harshly criticized by Winters.

If it weren't for the new organizational structure making it inconvenient to arbitrarily change ranks, Company Commander Tamas would now be Company Commander Tamas of the 12th Company.

Winters personally inspected the situation and found that the companies' food supplies were in a complete mess.

In particular, a short soldier in the company brought only a piece of bread, which was far from the standard of "two weeks".

Slightly fermented dough, baked twice, is lightweight and doesn't take up much space, making it the ideal military ration. Bread, a fluffy food, doesn't even qualify as dry rations.

Winters didn't discipline the soldiers; he disciplined the company commanders, especially the first company commander.

According to the corps' tradition, the order of companies and their combat strength are closely related. The first company has the strongest combat strength, so it is the first company.

Upon inspection, it was found that the first company had the worst combat readiness.

On the contrary, the second company commander, Bart Sharing, did a very good job.

The Second Company carried an average of three and a half weeks' worth of rations per person, and there was no situation where "some soldiers had more and some soldiers had less," which is truly commendable.

Winters immediately took out a gold cross medal and hung it on the Second Company's flag.

[Note: Andrei's and Winters' two have been melted down.]
……

"Alright," Winters waved his hand. "Let's go."

Tamas mounted his horse, raised his hand in salute again, and rode away.

Winters watched the carriage rumble out of Forgetown until it disappeared into the night.

He couldn't spare any troops for Bader, not even a single company.

Tiefeng County is bordered by the river. If there are enough troops or a fleet of ships, the best strategy is obviously to defend the river.

However, he had neither soldiers nor a fleet. He had to clench his fists and deliver a powerful punch to the fire-warmer's nose. Even a difference in troop strength of ten men could determine the success or failure of that punch.

Therefore, he could not spare troops for Bard; Bard and the refugee camp had to rely on themselves.

A one-armed middle-aged soldier stood behind Winters, silently watching everything.

The one-armed soldier asked softly, "Not even a single soldier? Is Lieutenant Bard really going to be able to handle this?"

“It has to work whether it works or not.” Winters remained silent for a long time. “I trust Bard, and he trusts me.”

The wind blew gently, carrying back the muffled sound of a forging hammer in the distance.

“The last time I saw this level of trust was when it was between a hammer and a shield.” A wistful smile appeared on the one-armed soldier’s lips.

Winters burst into laughter, grabbing the one-armed soldier's arm. "Alright, Commander, stop cursing us. Let's go back to Zhevodan. Mrs. Mitchell is hosting you tonight, have you forgotten?"

“I really don’t want to go. I’m scared when I see that woman.”

"Is there a woman who can frighten you?"

"There is at least one right now."

……

……

Colonel Bode has been back in Palatour for three days.

According to the customs of the Parat people, joyous occasions such as Colonel Bode's regaining his freedom and returning to his homeland must be celebrated with a banquet hosted by relatives and friends to signify a clean break with past misfortunes.

Despite the special circumstances, Winters still wanted to give the colonel a proper welcome.

After much deliberation, I realized that the only solution was to ask Mrs. Mitchell for help.

Winters felt guilty towards Mrs. Mitchell. With Girard's fate unknown, he sent Pierre on the most dangerous mission, and he had also taken advantage of Mrs. Mitchell.

Mrs. Mitchell never showed him the slightest reproach, which made Winters feel even more guilty.

So in the end, it was Anna who asked Mrs. Mitchell for help.

Ellen Mitchell readily agreed, and so this "family dinner" took place.

Mrs. Ellen Mitchell was the host, and Colonel Bode Gates was the guest of honor.

The male guests included Winters, Mason, and Father Carman.

Andrei was not there; like Don Juan, he had already led his scouts into the wilderness. Lieutenant Colonel Moritz avoided Colonel Bode and did not attend the banquet.

The female guests were Anna and Catherine; Scarlett was not present.

Because Scarlett cut her hair on her own initiative, Mrs. Mitchell forbade her from sitting at the dinner table.

This suited the little wildcat's wishes perfectly. At that moment, Scarlett was hiding in the kitchen, indulging in a gluttonous feast, and no dish escaped her "poisonous hands"—Ellen clearly hadn't anticipated this.

There were only six guests, and Ellen chose a two-meter-long table that was neither too far apart nor too crowded.

Ellen also opened two bottles of wine she had brought from Wolftown. In Gévordan these days, wine was a rare commodity.

The host and guests toasted and chatted, deliberately avoiding any discussion of war, politics, or the Hed people, creating a pleasant and intimate atmosphere.

Colonel Bode told one witty and humorous story after another, and the laughter at the dinner table never stopped.

There is some debate about which of the three men present is more skilled in military campaigns.

But when it comes to winning a woman's heart, even if you put Winters, Bud, Andre, Mason, Don Juan, and Moritz together, they wouldn't be enough to beat Bode Gates alone.

Although the calamities of the wasteland had nearly turned the colonel into a little old man, they could not extinguish his sense of humor.

As we chatted, it was time for the snacks to be served.

With one host and six guests, there should have been seven servings of dessert, but only six were served.

Ellen handed the pastries to the others without saying a word, but didn't take any for herself: "Speaking of pastries, the price of flour in town has been changing every few days these past few days."

Winters' attention immediately focused: "Flour prices have gone up?"

“Yes, those poor believers can’t even afford gruel.” Father Kaman coldly retorted, “Is this any of your business?”

Colonel Bode stopped telling jokes and quietly savored his snacks, as if he were invisible at the table.

“Well… I’ll look into it.” Winters nodded solemnly to Mrs. Mitchell and Carman, “Thank you both for reminding me.”

Kaman scoffed and stopped looking at Winters.

"Does this even need an investigation?" Senior Mason, who had a very low alcohol tolerance, said in a daze, his words hazy with drunkenness, "I heard that the barbarians from Hed are coming to attack. Everyone in the nearby villages and towns with a bit of property has fled to Revodan! It has city walls! How can flour prices not go up? You tell me? How can they not go up?"
Prices will continue to rise. The day the barbarian hooves trample into Iron Peak County, even more people will flee to Revodan.

"So you're just going to stand by and watch?" Father Kaman asked, frowning.

"Then what can we do? Limit prices? Prices will only go up even higher! Limit purchases? Everyone will rush to buy them!"

The senior student, sniffling and fiddling with his wine glass, retorted without hesitation: "To truly solve the problem, we must open the granaries and sell grain! But do we have any grain? We don't have any surplus grain! The grain in the granaries is dwindling every day, and we still need to use it to fight the Hed people! Do you know our difficulties when you pressure us, Father Kaman!"

Not only is the senior student a poor drinker, but his manners when drunk are also terrible... At least at this moment, Mason is definitely not the gentle and refined senior student he usually is.

Kaman was choked and speechless, and the priest didn't want to argue with the drunkard.

Meanwhile, Colonel Bode had already finished his snacks.

“I will discuss a solution with Mayor Priestkin,” Winters said with a smile, reassuring Kaman and his senior. “There will always be a way, don’t worry.”

Seeing that Mason was already quite drunk, Winters had an idea and asked, "How is your ranch doing now?"

"Which one?" the senior student asked, slightly slow to catch on.

"It's the one where I first visited you."

Winters's mention of it only brought up painful memories for his senior.

The effects of alcohol, pent-up emotions, and the atmosphere of the banquet caused Mason to burst into tears, making the atmosphere suddenly awkward.

Did I use too much force? Winters was also a little flustered.

Winters felt someone kick him under the table. He looked up and was met with Anna's radiant smile.

The big thing is bad!

Winters tickled Anna's ankle without any expression.

Ms. Navarre nearly spilled half a glass of wine because she lost her grip.

Catherine squinted, looking at the two of them suspiciously.

Immediately afterwards, Winters was kicked even harder in the shin.

Despite the excruciating pain, Winters put his arm around his senior's shoulder and comforted him, "I just wanted to ask how your breeding pigs are doing?"

"They're all gone, didn't I tell you?" The senior wiped his nose.

Winters knew, of course, because of the testimony of the victim, Don Juan. Last time, the senior got drunk and went on a rampage, talking to Juan about breeding stock selection for an entire night.

“It’s okay if they’re gone, we can cultivate them again,” Winters guided his senior.

"Sigh, it's different," the senior student said drunkenly. "To improve breeds, the fastest way is to use male animals, and the most direct effect is with female animals. I had both male and female animals there, all painstakingly selected and bred, and now they're all gone... Ronald... Raising pigs for meat is fine, but who slaughters breeding pigs for meat? I hate it so much..."

Winters listened and nodded.

Anna was somewhat annoyed. What was with talking about sows and boars at a dinner party? She had clearly signaled to Winters to stop the conversation, but the rascal seemed not to hear or see it and continued to lead Mr. Mason on.

Anna suddenly heard her sister speak: "Can't we buy seeds from outside anymore?"

When a lady showed interest in the topic, Mason became even more animated, explaining with enthusiasm: "Most pigs are raised by individual households, lacking the awareness and conditions for breeding. Raising a large number at once gives you more opportunities to select and breed the best ones."

Catherine smiled and asked curiously, "Can't we raise many more?"

In some respects, Miss Navarre was far more perceptive than her sister. For example… it was clear that Mr. M was intentionally trying to get Mr. Mason to talk about certain things.

"It will take many years to restore the size of the livestock herd." The senior student became increasingly melancholy and sad: "It takes time for the fetus to gestate and for the cubs to grow up. Sigh."

“And what about breeding horses?” Winters asked.

[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
[Actually, Winters is also a piece of iron.]
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(End of this chapter)